Dark Angel
by ShatteredAngelWings
Summary: AU! Chloe Saunders didn't mean to almost die…and she certainly didn't mean to bring back a sarcastic "Guardian Angel" who calls himself Wolf. Balancing her job, school, boys (ie none) and Wolf is a challenge in itself. But it seems that something followed her back to the living and intends something more sinister than Wolf's letting on.
1. Chapter 1

Dark Angel

o1

Chloe Saunders knew all too well that angels didn't exist. If they did, well, then, maybe Mom would still be alive.

When she was a little girl, when she was real and not made of a shell, her Mom would tell her that everyone had an angel, hidden in the sea of faces, blending in with humans. Guardian Angels, Mom had said, are angels that have lost their wings, after falling for a human.

That was before Mom died.

Gathering herself against the cold wind, Chloe stood and stared down with blurry eyes at the grey headstone. Weeds clawed their way up from the dead, brittle grass, like cold, angry fingers trying to pry apart the secrets of the cement. "I love you, Mom," she said, peeling away the weeds and adjusting the fresh flowers.

For the longest time, she just stood there, shivering in the frigid air, staring down at the ground. Years had passed and it still hadn't gotten any easier. "I've gotta go. Aunt Lauren'll have a fit if I'm late on Christmas Eve," she whispered and pulled the hood of her winter jacket up.

She wiped the wet slush from her knees and headed out of the cemetery, ignoring the loud honking of cars and screaming kids being dragged out of toy stores.

The sun peeked out through the dark clouds and gleamed on slick asphalt as she picked her way around glossy patches of ice and snow and puddles. Seeing as it was December, it had yet to warm up and a blanket of snow was layered on the ground by the careful hand of the gods.

It was as she sat down on the edge of the bridge, legs tucked between the spaces of the bars, just staring out at the cold, desolate place she called Home, that she heard the whispers. At first, it was a soft, a gentle hum in the back of her brain and then it got louder and shriller, a thousand voices screaming her name, hysterically. A pounding exploded in the side of her head, like someone had struck her with a broken brick but there was no one there; all there was were snow-dusted cars and broken beer bottles.

"Chloe."

It was a man's voice, startling close. She twisted around and a saw man behind her, dressed in a flannel jacket and paint-stained jeans, the wind whipping his snow-sprinkled black hair around his handsome face. Even from this distance, she could see the determination on his face, like he was determined to maybe push her off.

"Wh-who are y-you?" she asked through chattering teeth. A dreadful prickle of fear raced through her as he started forward. She scrabbled to her feet and the slush underneath her boots slid; she stumbled and gripped the bars.

"I'm a friend," he said, holding his bare hands out to her. His hands were rough looking, with calluses and grease stains, like he didn't know how to wash his hands. She stepped back.

"Chloe!" He was lunging for her as the ground creaked, groaning loudly before it gave way under her feet. The cold sensation of falling filled her as he lurched, arms out, the wind whipping at him. The sound of rushing wind drowned out what he was saying but she could see him, just before she smacked into the water, and he looked like an angel, with massive wings.

_If only angels were real_, she thought as she hit the concrete wall of water.

oOo

Everything was warm, like being curled up in front of a fireplace. Chloe's mouth tasted metallic, like she'd stuffed rusty pennies in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue?

Something tickled her nose and a voice whispered, gently, "Wake up." A flash of yellows and blues and reds danced behind her eyelids as something shined into her eyes; she squirmed away from the light.

"Chloe."

It was a man's voice and one she didn't recognize at all. It wasn't any of her friends or her dad, besides he was in Berlin, or any uncles or cousins and she was an only child. "Chloe." Rough hands shook her shoulders gently but firmly, touching her neck, feeling for, well, she didn't know.

"Chloe, open your eyes."

And she did and it hurt like hell. A searing pain blinded her and she let out a noise of agony; a blurry face swam in front of her eyes. "Hey, hey, sh, it's okay," said the voice again as the light dimmed. It took her a minute to realize it was _coming _from him; he was _shining_, like a light bulb or something. Light Bulb Maniac.

"Where…" she started, the daze peeling away to settle into terror and panic. They were in a meadow, with long grass that tickled her bare arms, and lots and lots of colorful flowers dotting everywhere. Trees, with green leaves and pretty fruits, crowded around them, forming a protective, spaced circle. "Am I dead?" she blurted.

"No," he laughed softly, stroking her cheek. He was really attractive, with curling black hair and Apple Smith green eyes, scars dotting his cheeks, hidden under the bumps of rough patchy acne. He was tall, even when crouched, and muscular, in an attractive, almost predatory way. His white t-shirt and jeans looked so normal that she had an astonishing epiphany.

"You kidnapped me!"

He blinked slowly at her, mockingly before he let out a deep, baritone laugh that sent her heart skipping. "Believe me," he said in his deep, thunderous voice that sounded too hypnotic to be good, "You'd come with me willing. Besides, we're in the Crossroads."

"Crossroads?" she repeated in a trembling sort of voice, pushing away her hair to glance down at her body. A white, translucent sundress hid everything and nothing, showing off her slim frame but keeping her bits hidden from his piercing view. "Crossroads of what?" she asked.

He'd been weaving a flower crown, ignoring her for a while; from this angle, she could see the big, black shapes on his back, jutting out of his shirt. A breeze rustled and then the shapes extended out, unfurling into glorious, dark-as-night wings with grey secondary feathers streaked with black freckles. He looked at her, a grim look on his handsome face.

"Crossroads between dying and living," he said calmly and then stood up, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. Where he touched burned fiercely and she was unable to determine if it was nice or unpleasant. "Now, do you want live in the human world or come with me?" he asked pleasantly.

"Wh-who are y-you?" she demanded as she tried to wretch herself away from him. His grip tightened as he looked at her, a bored expression on his face. "My name isn't important; call me Wolf. What's important is that I'm your guardian angel and you have a choice to make, Chloe." Something in his eyes changed, growing determined. "Either way, I'll come with you and protect you."

"_Protect me? Guardian _angel? Those are f-fairytales my mother used to tell me when she was alive!" Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes as she sniffled and stared down between her bare toes. The ground was clear and she could see herself lying in the snow, frozen, with Wolf hovering over her, his hands warming to red and pressing against her chest. He looked calm, but frantic; water poured off him at an alarming rate.

"Choose, Chloe. Come with me to Heaven or go back down to Earth," he said sharply, crossing his arms. He looked bright in the sunlight as she thought. Nate's smiling face; her Aunt's laughter…"Earth," she blurted and he smiled a sad smile.

"Okay," he whispered and turned her towards him. "I'm always here," he said and touched her chest gently, not in a perverted manner but feeling her heart.

Despite herself, she could feel her face warm as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her temple, right at the spot where the pounding had been.

_I'm here. Don't be afraid, _Wolf's voice whispered as warmth cocooned her. She saw his sad eyes as the world rushed to black.

_Don't be afraid, Chloe._

It was, as everything turned black that she realized he'd been the man on the bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

Dark Angel

o2

Everything hurt and Chloe Saunders couldn't feel her toes. "Chloe," said a voice as she felt something touch her face. Breathless, she tried to suck in air and cold, icy air filled her throat, pushing down into her windpipe, filling her lungs like balloons. It hurt to breathe, hurt to even _think _of breathing but her lungs worked on their own, taking in oxygen.

She bolted up as water filled her mouth and hacked it onto the ground, soaking her jeans and frozen fingers. "That's it," whispered a man's voice, an unnaturally warm hand stroking her back; someone, a woman, was crying fiercely. "Chloe, my precious baby," sobbed the woman. Exhausted, and freezing, she curled up against the frozen ground; ignoring the cold water the she landed in, and hugged herself. Everything was blurry; she couldn't see passed the hot, hot tears that burned her cold cheeks and stung her blue lips.

She saw a man's face leaning close to hers, eyes the color of summertime leaves, his nose bright red like his acne-ridden cheeks; he smelled wonderful, like pine needles and sandalwood and something entirely his own. He smiled, teeth white against his red skin. "You're safe," he whispered, stroking her cheek. His skin burned her like a hot stove but she figured that was because she had frostbite and hypothermia.

"I'm…so…sl…" She yawned, lips cracking and blood welling up in the lines. "…Sleepy…" she continued slowly, eyelids drooping lower and lower. "No, no, no, don't go to sleep!" screamed the woman's voice.

"Chloe!"

oOo

The sound of a monitor woke her hours later. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire; her mouth tasted fuzzy and swollen, and her eyes ached at the bright, bright lights outside. The room itself was dark, the lights off, and she was grateful. She knew she was in a hospital, she knew she was lucky to be alive but yet she felt…oddly out of it. Maybe this was a huge dream. She blinked slowly as she noticed the IVs and the drips and the monitors and piles upon piles of wires connecting her to life.

"It's okay," whispered a voice and she turned, squinting at his shape. She knew it was Wolf but he looked so _normal _that for a minute she feared the Crossroads had been a hallucination. She blinked and he was still there; okay, then, she _hadn't _hallucinated the extremely handsome man. "Angels aren't real," she said, her voice scratchy and strained as she lay back, watching him.

"Said who?" he demanded, leaning into the light that came in from the door in a long line; he was clean shaven and his slick hair was messy, his alert green eyes watching her, the eyes of a predator, around the pupils was an inhumane yellow-green that faded into the summertime leaves. It took her breath away.

She thought back to her fall in the river, hitting the icy concrete wall hard, the breath knocked out of her; surely, his wings had been a hallucination, brought on by the frigid temperatures but as she looked at his eyes, the way the light cast softening shadows across his hard mouth and sharp cheekbones, she thought maybe it wasn't.

He suddenly smiled, looking up at her. She'd been caught staring and her cheeks burned like fire. "Where's my aunt?" she asked quietly, squeezing her fingers into fists around the scratchy blankets.

"She had to work," Wolf replied, resting his chin in his palms. Dressed in a dark sweater and dark jeans, she could only see his hands, his wrists and his face, reminding her of a macabre painting of a decapitated man, smiling.

"Of course she did. And my father?" she whispered. _Please, at least let him come, _she thought with a trickle of desperation. "His flight's to land at 5. It's only 2. You've been out for a while," he said, running a hand along her hip and down her thigh gently. Her heart drummed as his touch sent a hot burning through her veins. "How long?" she rasped, tasting her dry lips and the bleeding cracks. He wouldn't look at her, suddenly, and he seemed far more interested in the blanket seems that he should've been.

"How _long_?" she asked, louder, angrier, blood thumping in her eardrums; her pulse throbbed in her wrists painfully, harsh and violent. Tears filled her eyes. "Damn you, tell me!" she hissed, anger replacing her panic as his eyes met hers, sharp and painfully bright with _his _anger. He stood slowly and deliberately, glaring down at her; he looked frighteningly dangerous, a shadow across his eyes, a tension in his broad, broad shoulders. Something feral sparked across his face.

"Don't you dare _damn _me," he breathed, his nostrils flared as he took two long strides closer, stalking like a wolf after prey. He looked startlingly like his namesake; wild hair and lips peeled back to reveal bubblegum pink gums and sharp canines, eyes full of sharp, brutal anger. "You don't know the _beginning _of damnation, so shut you little human mouth."

Something akin to fear slid into her lungs and filled them up like water, making her sputter and choke. "Little human mouth? What about you, almighty and powerful angel? Do you even _listen _to us? We must be specks on your oh so important map. Nothing more than gnats," she said, far braver than she felt, her voice surprisingly steady. "You want to know _why _I don't believe in angels or miracles?"

Her hands were coiled in fists around the bed railing and the bolts bit into her skin, bitter and painful. She pressed her hand harder against, trembling with a million kisses she'd never get, a million smiles that she'd never see, a million whispered words and hugs and laughs that would never materialize. Taking a deep breath, she sat up straighter, leaning forward until she was level with his eyes, since he'd leant down.

"When I as ten, my mother got lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life. I begged and I prayed and prayed and pleaded and promised and your God just let her die, let her wither away, slow and painful. Coughing up blood, the chemotherapy that didn't work but cost thousands." She took a quivering breath.

"She died on my birthday."

He seemed to be taken back but straightened his hair and leaned down close, close enough to kiss her if he wanted, close enough to butt her head too, and whispered, softly, "God has been around for a thousand years. Do you really think he could've brought your mother back from the brink of death? Death sank its teeth into her and he was a wild dog, draining her. My Father could not have stopped it had he wanted to."

She turned away and curled up, ignoring him. She wouldn't let this bastard see her cry because of him.


End file.
